“Really?”
“Of course.”
“Would you be willing to be my friend? Even if you don’t know me?”
“Do I have to answer you, or can you figure out the answer yourself? Anyway, since we don’t know each other, here it is. My name is Hailey Lawrence. I’m 28, I got married a few months ago, and I live in Los Angeles.”
“There’s no need, I get it. Thanks, Hailey. I’m Danny Hastings, I’m 34, and I live in Malibu. I’m not married, but I have a beautiful dog named Zoë.”
“Malibu is fantastic,” I say. “I’ve always dreamed of living there, but we didn’t find our dream home there. But we found a paradise here on Long Beach.”
“Why do I have the feeling that I know where you live? I saw a couple of amazing villas, but in the end, when I placed a bid for one, they told me they had already sold it.”
“Nooo! What a mess. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry, after a few days, I found mine, and I felt at home as soon as I got in. It must have been fate.”
“Thank goodness. I would have felt guilty.”
“Ha-ha, don’t worry.”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I start working on a book, but a question torments me. After two hours, I write back to him:
“Danny, excuse my curiosity, but why aren’t there any pictures of you on the internet? Why has no one ever seen you? If the rumors are true, not even your editor has seen you in person.”
“Caught! You googled me.”
“Of course. I’d like to know what my interlocutor looks like.”
“I’m flattered, Hailey. There are not many photos of you online either. I like to keep my life private, that’s all. No secrets.”
“Did you look for my photos? I can’t believe it!”
“You did it too, but I know a lot more about you than you do about me. Your husband is lucky. You’re a beautiful couple.”
“Oh, thank you.”
No more answers.
I return to work and miraculously finish two new manuscripts. As I send them back to their authors, I see an email from Danny from half an hour ago.
“This is Zoë. Please make sure to keep this photo to yourself.”
I open a photo of Danny sitting with Zoë in his arms. She’s a beautiful Doberman with that appears to be smiling.
But it’s Danny who strikes me. I enlarge the photo, and he seems to be looking into my soul. It’s such a weird feeling that it scares me, and I close the picture right away.
“Sorry I’m late,” I reply. “I was so caught up in the books that I overlooked the email. Thanks for the photo. Zoë is lovely. I can see that she loves you. And, Danny, you can trust me. This photo won’t leave this computer.”
I return the favor.
“Here I am, and you won’t find this on the internet.” I attach a photo of myself, nothing fancy, just a plain Hailey. Sitting on the sofa barefoot in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. My hair is gathered up in a bun done in a hurry, and my fantastic bookcase is behind me.
His reply comes after a couple of minutes. “It’s by far the photo I like most of you. You’re beautiful. And your library is impressive.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of it, but I confess that it’s only part. Take a look.” I attach a small video that I shot of my studio and library.
“When will your books be on those shelves too? I can’t say you don’t like reading. I’m speechless.”
